


Resurrection and Redemption

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-21
Updated: 2001-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: First part of a series. Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder
Collections: TER/MA





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> TER/MA December 2000 Challenge. Louise Wu's challenge: **To Serve & Protect** This month's challenge is bodyguards. Forget about obnoxious movies with Whitney Houston or Shirley MacLaine, or bad TV shows with busty bimbo bodyguards! Instead, think of the sexy men of the X-Files. One man putting his life on the line to protect another. The intimate contact between two men as one of them places his body in between a threat and the man he lives to defend. Taking a beating or a bullet to prevent harm. Sleeping close by to keep him safe at night. It could be AU. It could be an FBI agent protecting a witness who's going to testify against the Consortium. It could be BDSM, the bodyguard a sub to the protectee's dom. Perhaps one man is injured and the other must defend him to deliver him out of harm's way. It could just be one man protecting the man he loves.

  
**Resurrection and Redemption I  
by Ann H**

  
For the first time in months, I feel no pain. Of course, I am _dead_. 

That's what the patrolman who found my body said. The coroner called to the site agreed. 

When Scully identified my body, she cried. Even Skinner looked shaken as he led Scully out of the morgue. 

I can't speak or move. I don't think I'm breathing. I'm deadalive. And I'm terribly afraid. 

What happens when they perform the autopsy? 

* * *

I've broken into FBI installations dozens of times. Never to visit the _morgue_. 

The last time I was in this room, I was Agent Krycek, boy fibbie. And I almost lost my lunch while both Mulder and Scully smiled. 

Neither one is smiling now. Well, Mulder's not, I can tell. 

He certainly _looks_ dead. His skin is pale, his body cool to the touch. Eyes closed, no heartbeat, no breathing. 

For the first time since Tunguska, and the second time in my adult life, I want to cry. But there's no time for tears. I have a job to do. 

If the information provided by the rebels is correct, I have a life to save. Please, Mulder, be _in_ there. 

I need you. "Oh, Mulder..." 

* * *

Someone's here. My visitor is stealthy, moving in near silence. A hand cups my left cheek. I can't quite physically feel it, but my mind makes the leap. The joy from this simple human contact is overwhelming. Please, somehow, know that I'm _here_... 

"Oh, Mulder..." 

Alex Krycek. 

There is sorrow, regret and longing in that voice. A dark, husky voice that has taunted me so often in my nightmares, more often in my fantasies. 

Whenever I am with Alex, I feel completely _alive_. If my body would allow it, I would choke on the irony of my situation. I can go utterly mad now. The only thing keeping hysterics at bay is the heat in Alex's touch, his fingers gently skimming my cheek. 

Then he says the words that drive away my despair. For the first time in _forever_ , there is a connection, there is hope... 

"Mulder, I hope you can hear me. It's me... Alex. I'm going to take you somewhere safe... they can bring you _back_ , Mulder. You have to be strong, just a little longer. I _swear_ , Mulder." 

I _believe_. 

* * *

There's no way to know if my words were heard, but _I_ feel better. 

I quickly dress Mulder in the sweats I brought with me, then throw a sheet over his still form. Forty minutes later, I'm pulling out of Quantico, with Mulder in the trunk of my car. If... _when_ he recovers, Mulder will hit me for that. When he recovers, I'll let him. 

I've missed his sarcasm. His drive. The strength and warmth as he lands another blow. The intensity of passion shining in his brilliant eyes. The catch in his breath as I planted that all-too-honest kiss on his cheek... 

I learned from most of my early mistakes. Hide in plain sight. Be near the action. Take chances. That last chance brought me a Tunisian vacation, but it eventually led to the smoking bastard's death. Now I'm going to take the greatest chance of all. I'm gonna tell Mulder _everything_. And I'm gonna make sure he survives it. No matter what. 

* * *

I never thought riding in a car trunk would be peaceful. The rhythm of the tires in endless motion is constant and soothing. So, of course, it must end. The car slows, pauses, then a turn. Finally, nothing. A car door opens, is quickly closed. Steps. Keys. The trunk is opened. 

"Mulder, I'm taking you into a medical office located in DC. No tricks, no games. No doubt you're feeling scared and abused right about now. I _know_ what it's like to be helpless, Mulder. All I can do is talk you through this. I'll explain everything that's being done as it happens, and why it's necessary. Afterwards... once you're back, we talk. About aliens, conspiracies and evil men. Finally, you take back your life." 

It's funny, I really should be afraid, but I'm not. I'm happy in the knowledge that Alex is an inventive, cunning agent with a keen survival instinct. He has a plan, and while Alex Krycek and plans usually have an unnerving effect on me, this plan is to _save_ me. I'll take whatever miracles I can get. 

A comfortable warmth runs through my mind as Alex carefully lifts me from the trunk. I wish I could open my eyes and _see_ him. 

As we leave the garage and enter the building, my brain goes into overdrive. It really is a medical office; I assimilate voices, complaints of aches and pains and grumbles over extended waits for doctor visits. I only have a few moments to filter this information, as Alex swiftly moves down another corridor, all voices fade away as he continues on. 

"Mulder, it's not safe to be around others. I'm taking you to see someone you consider a friend. He has a... a practice here, and I think he can help you." 

Alex takes a left turn, slows, then gently places me on a bed. He leaves his hand on my shoulder. Again, without quite _feeling_ , my brain registers this as reassurance. 

"Mulder... the man that is with me in this room is Jeremiah Smith. I hope you remember him." 

Remember him? There's nothing wrong with my mind, I quickly internally visualize images of my various meetings with Smith. Jeremiah Smith. Rebel. Healer. 

_Healer_. 

"Mulder, it is me... Jeremiah. I would have liked us to meet under better circumstances, but here we are. I will do what I can, Mulder. I hope my abilities, along with the medical information Mr. Krycek obtained from... various sources, lead to your complete recovery." 

"What I intend to do is inject you with a small dose of nanocytes. This needs to be done to re-start those bodily functions in stasis. Once started, I start the healing process. Once you are safely healed, the last step is to deactivate the nanocytes." 

I want to run so very badly, just run, on and on, no destination, no search, just _away_. The shapeshifters experimented on me, tortured me, then tossed me aside without a second glance. Just another specimen that didn't produce the desired results. I have no desire to be injected with alien technology, handled by alien hands, even ones that have helped me in the past. The panic is overwhelming, filling every brain cell, washing over any rational thought. 

Then Alex kneels down, his face drawn close to my left ear. 

"Mulder, it must feel cruel and completely overwhelming to you, but it has to be done. I promise, I'll be here the entire time. I'll talk to you and hold onto you, encourage and support you. And when it's over, you'll be _well_ , you'll be able to kick my ass, then kick it some more." 

With Alex's words, most of the panic retreats to the deeper recessions of my mind. At least I've regained some measure of control. 

There's nothing I _can_ do. It will happen, now. My only option is to concentrate on a positive outcome. On being able to breathe and feel, and see and touch. To be human, alive and whole. To live. 

* * *

This part: PG-13?   
Title: Resurrection and Redemption, Part One   
Author: Ann H   
Written: January 21-23, 2001   
Summary: First part of a series. Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.   
Note 1: Canon up to current day (insert season eight joke here). Read some of the spoilers floating around (WARNING!), a few of which I use on my way to AU-land.   
Note 2: Since this does go AU, I should warn you I'm not good with science and medical terminology, and I really don't know how the nanocyte buggers are supposed to work, so a little suspension of belief would be in order.   
Note 3: Not yet, but eventually... Doggett warning, disappearing/reappearing accent and all. Kersh warning. And, yes, CSM is dead. In my world, lethal quadruple-agents _double-check_ their work.   
Note 4: Kinda-sorta character death. Yes-it's-true character death (trust me, you'll like it). The boys get a happy ending; I may be sick and twisted, but I have a _soul_.   
Mood Music: 'Music for the Masses: A Tribute to Depeche Mode', various artists   
Disclaimers: XF characters not mine, his. All of them.   
Yes, feedback is good. [email removed]   
---


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First part of a series. Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.

  
**Resurrection and Redemption II  
by Ann H**

  
The entire process took three days. Mulder finally fell asleep ten minutes ago. Jeremiah Smith, exhausted, passed out on a table in the next room. I've now been awake 82 hours straight, yet I can't sleep. I can't stop staring at the man sleeping peacefully, a weak smile formed on relaxed lips. 

That smile was a long time coming. The nanocytes Smith injected into Mulder had an immediate effect. It was like watching an explosion, all fury and motion and power. 

Mulder simply _was_. Lungs heaved, eyes opened, _every_ muscle flexed. Once he took in air, he expressed every bit of fear, anger, hopelessness and pain endured over the last two months. 

That scream came from his very soul. The Alex Krycek that awoke to determined, silent peasants holding him down, pressing a fire-heated knife to his arm knew that scream. So did the Alex Krycek that awoke after the mutilation, drowning inside as the reality overwhelmed him. My horror was definately less than his, but I _understood_ it all, and I wouldn't let him go through it alone, and I told him this and more. 

Talked to him non-stop while holding him down by the shoulders as Smith worked on his damaged body. Told him about Tunguska and Tunisia and that goddamed silo. Choked out the story of my scientist parents, defectors during the Cold War, naively assuming they would be safe and free in their new country. How Mischa and Tatlya and I were taught by them to be patriots, to treasure our freedom and enjoy our new lives. 

By this time, the screams had faded, and Mulder only issued the occasionally low, pained moan. It's a good thing this room is soundproofed. I also checked _everything_ for bugs before bringing Mulder here. I was taking no chances shapeshifters, oilens, or rebels would documents the events or words spoken here. 

My words were distracting Mulder from Smith's continued ministrations to his injuries. I was able to lower my voice considerably. That didn't stop my voice from shaking as I continued talking about my parents, about the large think-tank they worked for after their usefulness to the U.S. government had ended. About my parents after their usefulness to the Consortium had ended. Hesitantly, about that terrifying night the armed men came in, killed my parents at the dinner table, and spirited three traumatized children away from the horrifying sight of blood and nauseating smell of Morleys. 

Up to this point, Mulder's brilliant eyes were in constant motion, moving between me, Smith, and various parts of the ceiling. At the mention of Cancer Man, he focused his gaze on my own. 

Only then did I realize I was crying, and had been doing so for some time. Mulder's left hand slowly rose from the bed, and came to rest on mine. I couldn't speak, just stared into those hazel depths. Saw the understanding, and more. 

Jeremiah Smith stepped back from the table. Mulder tensed, and I squeezed his hand before turning to Smith. 

"Is there a problem?" 

"No, Mr. Krycek, it's all going very well, so far. I just need a break... wash my face. We still have much to accomplish here." 

I turned back to Mulder. "It's time for halftime. Or do you prefer seventh-inning stretch?" 

Mulder closed his eyes, relief all too evident. He was still weak, couldn't speak yet, and getting frustrated. So close, yet out of reach. Like so many of his truths. 

I don't want to be the one to tell him about Samantha. I am so sick of bringing him pain, especially when I'm trying to do the right thing. I just want to sit here, enjoying the stillness and peace. 

After a short break, Smith reenters the room. He's still tired, but ready to continue. The hours pass on, and as Mulder becomes stronger, I speak of events that occured while he was gone. I tell him about Scully's pregnancy, and the little I know of Spender's part in it. I tell him of Scully's work on the X-files, about her new partner, John Doggett, and Kersh's promotion. 

I tell Mulder about an old, cancer-ridden man who manipulated us all, arranging for him be in that forest. I also tell him about a fatal fall in a wheelchair down a long stairwell. 

I relate to him of my latest actions. My constant, secret contact with the rebels. My aquisition of most Consortium records. The recent meeting with Skinner, when I had his nanocytes deactivated. My constant search, using all resources available, to find him. 

"It's time for the final step, Mulder, Mr. Krycek." 

Luckily, deactivating the nanocytes in a human is a much more pleasant experience then activating them. After another hour, everything is done. Mulder is back... alive and whole. 

My voice is gone, worn out. 

Mulder smiles at Smith and I... a beautiful, warming smile. 

"It's good to be back." 

Now he's asleep. He needs it. 

It has been a long three days. Time to stop thinking about these momentous events and let go. There are plans to make, a Mulder to protect, and I need to be sharp. 

There's no way I'm leaving him alone. Once everyone discovers he's alive, he becomes a target. Surprise, Mulder, you've gotten yourself a bodyguard. 

I lower my body onto his bed. Curl on my side next to his warm, resting body, settle my head in the crook of his left arm. It's only minutes before I, too, fall into an relaxed, peaceful sleep. 

* * *

Title: Resurrection and Redemption, Part 2   
Author: Ann H   
Written: January 24, 2001   
Summary: Second part of a series. Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.   
Rating, Part 2: PG-13. Good stuff coming, promise...   
Note 1: Canon up to current day (insert season eight joke here). Read some of the spoilers floating around (WARNING!), a few of which I use on my way to AU-land. Update: I've decided that I'm changing canon. "Closure" DID NOT HAPPEN. Didn't like it, didn't buy it, not gonna use it.   
Note 2: Since this does go AU, I should warn you I'm not good with science and medical terminology, and I really don't know how the nanocyte buggers are supposed to work, so a little suspension of belief would be in order.   
Note 3: Not yet, but eventually... Doggett warning, disappearing/reappearing accent and all. Kersh warning. And, yes, CSM is dead. In my world, lethal quadruple-agents _double-check_ their work.   
Note 4: Kinda-sorta character death. Yes-it's-true character death (trust me, you'll like it). The boys get a happy ending; I may be sick and twisted, but I have a _soul_.   
Mood Music: REM... lots of REM. "The Great Beyond", "Everybody Hurts", "The One I Love." Hey! Why am I writing fic? I'm off to go through my CD collection...   
Disclaimers: XF characters not mine, his. All of them.   
Feedback: Yes. [email removed] Otherwise, I'll assume everyone hated it, and cry myself to sleep. No, not really, but, c'mon, would it hurt to give a little feedback?   
---


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First part of a series. Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.

  
**Resurrection and Redemption III  
by Ann H**

  
The truth is out there... and it's _wonderful_. 

Let's start with the basics: I'm alive. I can breathe. I can move, but I really don't want to. 

Alex Krycek is nestled against me, at rest as innocent and trusting as a child. His slightly parted lips allow for a partial glimpse of even white teeth. He has let his hair grow: while still short, it now reaches his shirt collar, and a few stray mahogany locks fall carelessly over his forehead. The hair and his dark, lush eyelashes nicely contrast with his soft, pale skin. This sleeping young man is so many people: betrayer/patriot, thief/informant, killer/lifesaver. 

For the first time in far too long, my focus was on someone other than myself. For seventy-two hours I concentrated on the words and emotions pouring from my one-time enemy. Distanced myself from the agonizing shards of pain racking my abused body, and focused on _his_ pain. I listened and watched and learned. My eidectic memory has cataloged every word and deed. 

I never _knew_ Alex Krycek before. Oh, when I first met him, I _thought_ I did. He was the rookie agent, awkward and eager, who would listen to even my wackiest theories, not dismissing them outright. We were developing our partnership, a balance and rhythm that grew more comfortable each day. I missed working directly with Scully, but in a way my life was perfect: I had them both. Scully would keep me grounded, her approach always meticulously scientific and logical, tempered by her kindness and her generous nature. Alex would work cases with an enthusiasm and spirit that was contagious. I was finally working cases not only to aid my search for Samantha and the truth, but also because I _enjoyed_ the challenge. I was even beginning to think I could have more than my work, let myself experience companionship and trust in ways I'd learned to repress in my teens. Then Scully was taken, Krycek disappeared, and my whole world fell apart once again. 

The next time I saw Alex, I was going to kill him. I was strung out on LSD at the time, but that didn't matter. I suspected he killed my father, and, despite my avowals at the time, that didn't matter either. As I bashed him against the wall, and smashed him against that car, all I could see was that look of surprise and fear in his eyes. It made him seem young and harmless, and my eidetic memory replayed over and again past moments of cocky grins and adoring gazes. I was so angry and confused and hurt, and just moments away from pulling the trigger, when it _clicked_. 

He knew I was going to kill him, and _accepted_ it. A small part of him continued the pretense of struggle, but it was there, in his posture, in his voice, in his tear-filled eyes: 

//Go ahead.// 

//I deserve it.// 

//I want _you_ to do it.// 

Then Scully appeared, shot me to save me, and Krycek disappeared yet again. I was no closer to the answers I needed. 

In Hong Kong I met a different Alex Krycek. Gone forever were the cheap suits and ugly ties. This Alex was all tight jeans, leather, stubble and attitude. Every moment at the airport was electric and heat. We were going to strip away every last pretension and lie, there and then. Fool that I was, I left him alone, just a few minutes, while I tried to restore my own composure. The Alex that emerged from the airport bathroom was silent and cold. 

For all my knowledge, training, and acute paranoia, I can be _such_ an idiot. How could I have not known something was wrong? Alex was a liar and probably a murderer, but he _always_ exuded an unchecked passion and vibrancy. My companion on the long return trip to DC ignored my questions, didn't try to excuse or explain his actions, and made no efforts to escape. When we were driven off the road, my head pounding from the concussive force, I wasn't thinking about the answers on the MJ tape. I was thinking about the answers in Alex Krycek. When I awoke at the hospital, he was gone, but I didn't give up. Scully and I tracked him to North Dakota, started searching the endless silos, when we were dragged away by Cancer Man's goons. 

He was there. I _felt_ him. I thought for sure Spender would kill him. I would never resolve the anger and confusion I felt about Alex. 

Months later, when I unexpectedly saw him with those militia men, complete with stupid-ass haircut, I was stunned, yet estatic. I was so happy he was alive, I couldn't stop hitting him. Scully couldn't understand my behavior... how could I tell her I didn't, either? 

I didn't understand Alex's behavior, too. He was sending me information, handed me this bust, and raving about 'destroying the destroyers,' taking down the powerful Consortium leaders. At least I knew this was Alex, and not some alien host. The fire was back, though tempered by strength and cunning. Life on the run was actually good for Alex, he was sharper and tougher and smart; because of that, I had to hit him some more. 

As always, whenever Alex Krycek is involved, things go completely out of control. _I_ go out of control. How else to explain incarceration in a Siberian prison, black oil experiments, or the fact that _I'm_ the one that dragged us there? Once that truck crashed, and Alex and I were separated, who would have picked me as the one to escape unscathed? Not that I knew about his arm until much later. Oh, Alex... 

I pause my reflections to look down at the exhausted man still curled around me. He's laying on his right side, soft breaths warm and comfortable on my left collarbone. He's wearing the prosthetic; only the hand and wrist are visible as they emerge from the sleeve of his long-sleeved black shirt. The hand rests between Alex and I, the coolness of the plastic a contrast to the heat centered everywhere else we touch. 

The last time we touched, he kissed me. On the _cheek_ , the bastard. 

He controlled every aspect of that meeting. The note, the attack, the taunting. 

//I could beat you with one hand.// 

//Isn't that how you like to beat yourself?// 

OK, he didn't control _everything_. I'm still amazed he let me live after that crack. Instead, he gave me back my beliefs. Told me about the rebel alien, gave me his location. Threw me that damned curve ball. Then left. Again. 

I'm still not sure if I really saw him or not as I lay, confused and lost, months later in that stairwell. I do know I flew into a rage the moment he and Marita walked into my office with the information about the alien ship. My emotions were all over the map: I was worried about Scully, excited about the ship, energized by Krycek's mere _presence_ , yet he just stood there, calm, serious, aloof. 

This time he wasn't going to give me clues, then leave. No, I left _him_. He had wanted to accompany Skinner and I to Oregon. Naturally, I ditched him... wonder if that brought back any memories for him? 

Of course, the joke was on me. I disappeared into that bright light, found myself surrounded by other abductees... and the shapeshifting monsters that would use me in their foul experiments and leave me for dead. No, not 'for dead.' Dead. 

The shudder that ran though me just now startled me. It's still a shock to actually have my motor functions back, both the voluntary and involuntary ones. Alex is instantly alert, sits up sharply and looks down at me with his piercing gaze. His voice, overworked these last few days, is deeper and huskier than ever before. Concern and hope color every concise word. 

"How do you feel, Mulder?" 

How do I feel? 

"I feel like a new man, Krycek." 

And that's the truth. I'm renewed. Re-invigorated. I have people to see, conspiracies to unravel and a rat bastard to understand. No more hiding from my needs, fears, and deepest desires. 

With his gentle actions and soothing words, his unexpected care and all-too-welcome comfort, Alex Krycek's thrown me another curve ball. Only this one's in my sights, and I'm driving it out of the park. Home run. Score one for Mulder. 

"So, Alex, what do we do now?" 

* * *

Title: Resurrection and Redemption, Part 3   
Author: Ann H   
Written: January 28—31, 2001. This is getting harder as I go along.   
Summary: Third part of a series. Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.   
Rating, Part 3: PG-13. Good stuff coming, promise...   
Warning: See notes from parts 1 and 2   
Note: In this story, I've been alternating point-of-view between Mulder and Krycek. Since I only post parts when I feel like it, sometimes it's hard to keep track. Mulder's turn, okay?   
Mood Music: This time it's Crowded House. Doesn't matter which CD... they are all great. If you don't like my story, listen to their music anyway. Trust me on this one.   
Disclaimers: XF characters not mine, his. All of them.   
Feedback: Yes. [email removed] It is a scientific fact that people who provide feedback live longer and have happier lives than those who don't.   
---


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First part of a series. Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.

  
**Resurrection and Redemption IV  
by Ann H**

  
"So, Alex, what do we do now?" 

I'm confused. Where is 'you-killed-my-father-you-rat-bastard' Mulder? I search his expressive eyes for signs of hostility or distrust, and find none. All I see is a calm, measured gaze full of curiosity. I'm not ready for this. 

"Alex?" 

Put up or shut up, Alex. "I'd like to get out of here. It's not safe to stay in one place for too long. I have a place nearby we can use for a few days, until you decide what to do next." 

Mulder's lips twist into an amused grin. "Me?" 

My sigh is long, deep, and oh, so honest. "You. I'm not playing games, Mulder. It's all gone to hell _again_ , and you're the only one with the intuition and smarts to sort it out. I've pieced together all sorts of information, but _you_ decide what to do with it." 

This statement earns me one of those rare, heart-stopping Mulder smiles. Eyes crinkle and shine, lines disappear, and I'm stunned by the brilliance. All too quickly, the smile disappears, and I almost get whiplash from the mood swing. The man next to me is now quiet, introspective, and, for lack of a better word... lost. 

"What if I make the wrong choices, Alex? I haven't been exactly... stable, recently. A few days ago, I was _dead_ in the worst possible way. These past few months were a horrible mixture of pain, hopelessness and fear. What makes you think I am remotely capable of doing this?" 

God. How do I reach him? I can't goad him into this, and humor would only depress him more. I'm gonna have to go with the truth, which will tell him far more than I want to reveal. Fuck. I _hate_ this! 

"Why do I think you can do this? Because Fox Mulder is intelligent. Insightful. Determined. He's perceptive and intuitive, dedicated and tenacious. He's dealt with physical trauma, emotional blackmail, betrayals and lies, and fought back each time." 

Breathe, Alex. 

"Fox Mulder is a man who _believes_ , against all hope, against all odds. And I believe in _him_." 

* * *

When I was dead, it was never _this_ silent. It's not that I don't have anything to say, far from it. I'm full of words, suffused with emotions, and they are all fighting for release, caught in a tangle, leaving me speechless. 

Alex won't even look at me now. He resembles a young boy who has confessed to breaking the living room window, waiting for the coming anger and punishment. 

I could really hurt him now, without raising a fist. I have often used words as a weapon, sharper and colder than any blade. Those scars don't fade. I know. I learned that lesson at an all-to-early age. I bet the Consortium taught him that, too. 

Instead I slowly rise from the bed. That gets his attention. I make my way to him, my legs unsteady, but my confidence returning. He doesn't move, his face shows a mixture of confusion and longing. I bet mine does as well. 

It feels so comfortable as I put my arms around his neck. It feels so natural to pull his body to mine. It feels so right to close my eyes and surrender to the warmth and strength and _feel_ of Alex. All of my hesitation and doubt slide away easily, banished by hope. 

We can do this. _We_ can do this. 

* * *

Title: Resurrection and Redemption, Part 4   
Author: Ann H   
Written: February 8 , 2001. This part is really short, but it took _hours_. Darn it, this stuff is hard!   
Summary: Fourth part of a series. Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.   
Rating, Part 4: PG-13. Anticipation...   
Warning: See notes from parts 1 and 2   
Mood Music: Against all belief, Blue Oyster Cult, "Don't Fear the Reaper." I _did_ mention I was twisted earlier, right?   
Disclaimers: XF characters not mine, his. All of them.   
Feedback: Yes. [email removed] Or I'll write more Yam fic. If you know what _that_ means, you should be very afraid.   
---


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First part of a series. Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.

  
**Resurrection and Redemption V  
by Ann H**

  
I'm holding onto Mulder for dear life. Seems like he has the same idea. This is _perfect_. 

Thoughts scatter, our surroundings fade away, and each second is an eternity of bliss. For the first time in far too long, all I do is feel. Feel the heat of the body pressed against mine. Feel the soft tickle of his breath on my right ear. Feel the rapid, strong heartbeats that match mine. 

Finally, my brain converts the sensory overload into words. Wonder. Pleasure. Complete. Mulder. 

_Love_. 

That last thought startles me, and I pull away from Mulder. At the same time, the door opens. 

"Agent Mulder, I'm glad to see you looking so well." 

I can count all the humans I trust on one hand. Convenient, I know. I can count the aliens I trust on one finger: Jeremiah Smith. And that's only because he's helped Mulder in the past, and Mulder trusts him. 

Mulder seems to have reverted to his usual quirky self. "You gonna charge me for this visit? I don't think the FBI medical plan covers dead agents." "Mr. Mulder," Smith replied. "this one's on the house. I would suggest, however, you keep a low profile for a while. You are the first abductee to make a successful recovery: public knowledge of your revival would be dangerous." 

No shit. All the remaining players must already know about the disappearance of the "dead" body. Mulder needs to lay low for now. 

"Time to go, Mulder. Smith, we'll be in touch." 

For a moment, Mulder hesitates: is our fragile friendship over so soon? But then he shrugs easily, and heads out the door. As I rush to catch up, he turns back, and dazzles me with that lazy Mulder-grin. 

"C'mon, Alex. You're buying me dinner. Hope you have some serious cash on you, I'm not a cheap date." 

When did the idea of following Mulder's orders become such _fun_? 

* * *

I've seen Alex Krycek look angry; I've seen him appear terrified. But I have never, _ever_ seen him with a widespread grin that can only be described as... goofy. 

It's endearing. I want to see another one. 

We've made our way back to his car. This ought to do it. 

"Alex, why don't _you_ drive?" 

Oh, yeah, there it is again. This is addicting. 

"Mulder, I think I should check your blood. Or _my_ sanity." 

I've smiled more in the last few hours than I did all last year. This is a change for the better. Think I'll go with the flow. 

"Alex. I am human. You are sane. And you have the car keys, so you might want to unlock the doors. I wasn't kidding, earlier. If I don't get fed soon, I'll have to consider cannibalism." 

Too late I realize that may not have been the most tactful thing to say. For once, luck is with me: Alex seems to have decided to share in the merriment... or, at least to humor me. 

Fine. Whatever works. He unlocks the car, and in moments we're on the road. 

"Tell you what, Mulder... I'm driving us to my latest bolthole. Once we get you a shower and a change of clothes, _maybe_ the restaurant of your choice would actually serve us. Or, we can always order in... that should make you feel right at home." 

OK, he has a point. I smell. No, I _reek_. But will I let former rat bastard Alex Krycek have the last word? No, I don't _think_ so! 

Besides, I've missed our give-and-take. Especially the giving... 

"Alex! Trying to make me comfortable? Very generous of you. Did you stock up on my videos, too?" 

Oh, I got him. He's actually _blushing_! I'm being childish, but, hey, I've been through a lot; a little juvenile humor is well deserved. 

Where was I? Oh, yeah... got him! 

"Nope, Mulder. I want my couch to _stay_ clean, thank you very much." 

"..." 

* * *

Mulder doesn't say anything for the next ten minutes. Oh, he's sooooo embarrassed. Ha! 

It's only as I drive into my parking space located in front of the aging twelve-story building that Mulder regains his voice. 

"Alex... we're really not where I think we are... are we?" 

Oh, yes. I, Alex Krycek, love irony. 

"Yes, Mulder, we really _are_ three blocks away from your old apartment. From my balcony we should have quite a view. Hope the fish are still alive." 

Judging from the glare Mulder's giving me, the teasing's gone far enough. And he may not acknowledge it, but he's still weak. 

"Look, Mulder, I just moved in last week. I have my reasons, and I'll share them with you when we get upstairs. I'm feeling a little exposed out here. Can we please go in?" 

A slight gust of wind, and suddenly he's shaking. My arm is around his shoulder without conscious thought, and I'm urging Mulder inside. 

The antiquated elevator creaks and grinds its way to the eighth floor. Down the hall, far right, twist of the key, and we're in. 

Time for Mulder to see how the rat lives. 

End part 5 

* * *

Title: Resurrection and Redemption, Part 5   
Author: Ann H   
Written: February 15, 2001.   
Summary: Fifth part of a series; the darn thing keeps growing, and I haven't even gotten to a real plot, yet! Originally intended as a response to the December 2000 bodyguard challenge, then the story took on a life of it's own.   
Rating, Part 5: PG. But, eventually...   
Warning: See notes from parts 1 and 2   
Mood Music: None.   
Disclaimers: XF characters not mine, his. All of them.   
Feedback: Yes. [email removed] Please?   
---


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